


Liquid Courage

by Lonaargh



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkward Derek, Baba Yaga's daughter, Cute, Demons, Fluff, Fluffy, Hurt Stiles, I Don't Even Know, Longing, M/M, Possession, Stabbing, kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4682828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonaargh/pseuds/Lonaargh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek gets a strange text in the middle of the night. It's Stiles, asking him to come over for something very important. This text sets a series of events in motion that both of them will remember for a long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stilienski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stilienski/gifts).



> My first TW/Sterek fic. \o/ Whoo!

 

The smell of alcohol hit him even before he climbed through the open window. Derek wrinkled his nose in disgust as he silently entered the boy’s room. There, sprawled on the covers, fast asleep and snoring loudly with his mouth open, lay Stiles. His right hand hung limply off the side of the bed, still clasping an empty bottle of scotch. Derek scowled and walked up to the bed. Not being gentle, he shook Stiles, trying to wake him.

“Wzzth?” Came the eloquent response.

“I am here. What’s the emergency?” Derek’s scowl could’ve cut through glass.  
Stiles blinked up at him fuzzily, his brow furrowed.

“’Mergency? Wha?” He asked. But then realisation hit. “Oh! Yes! I needed you. V’ry bad.” The words were slurred, but hearing Stiles say that he needed him made Derek’s heart skip a beat.  
“But I couldn’t say it t’you without… stuff.” Stiles waved his hands vaguely, as he tried to get off the bed without falling over. He succeeded. Somewhat.  
“Alcol helps. A lot.” He nodded sagely, as if telling Derek a huge secret.

“You are drunk,” Derek stated flatly, “Underage, and drunk.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “How are you going to explain this to your father in the morning?”

“I’m not. Easy. Easy Pseasy. Peasy. Hah. Anyway. I needed the stuffscohol for couragesses.”

“What do you need courage for, Stiles?” Derek sighed.

“This.”

Still swaying slightly, the teen took a step forward. If Derek hadn’t caught him when he lost his balance, Stiles would’ve faceplanted against Derek’s chest. But, as it was, Derek did catch him. And Stiles pressed his lips against Derek’s mouth. It was horrible, Derek thought. Stiles reeked of booze. Stiles was underage. Stiles was drunk. Stiles… was in his arms. Stiles was kissing him. But before Derek could return the gesture, Stiles slipped and fell limp in Derek’s arms. The alcohol had finally gotten the better of him and he was out cold.

Derek’s upper lip pulled up in a sneer. Typical. With ease he put Stiles back in bed, pulling the covers over the sleeping boy.

During the drive back home he gingerly brushed his lips with the tips of his fingers, ignoring the somersaults his stomach was making. Stiles had kissed him.


	2. Wait, what?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up with a hell of a hangover, and a few texts from Derek

Never again, he swore to himself. Never again would he drink that much.   
Stiles stifled a groan when another jolt of pain shot through his head. His long, slender fingers cradled a cup of hot coffee.  
The rest of the foodstuffs on the breakfast table went untouched.

His father looked up from the newspaper he was reading and raised an unsympathetic eyebrow, “Hangover not to your liking?”.

Of course it had been stupid to think his father wouldn’t notice the missing bottle of Scotch. It had been even stupider to think that ‘not explaining to his father’, as his original plan was, would be a smart thing to do when confronted with the empty bottle this morning. But the stupidest thing so far was thinking that his father would understand when Stiles had asked him to please, for the love of God, stop yelling because Stile had the mother of all headaches and wanted to die. His father had yelled more. Understandably so. His father had yelled even louder. Somewhat understandable, if a bit rude. Then his father had grounded him, which was completely uncalled for. Stiles had briefly considered explaining to his dad that he had gotten drunk in a controlled environment (i.e. his bedroom and not some shady bar somewhere) and that it had been for a good cause. But the murderous killing look his dad had given him made him change his mind. 

He may have wanted to die, but not because his dad murder killed him. That just wouldn’t do. After the yelling stopped his dad insisted that Stiles join him for breakfast, because, as his dad told him, “if you’re grownup enough to get drunk on my Scotch, then you should be grownup enough to face the consequences in the morning.” It sucked.

“Not really,” Stiles grumbled, “is there some place I can go to get a better one? One that’s better suited to me? You know, painless, non-nauseating, non-existent?”

Despite his anger, his father chuckled and turned his attention back to the newspaper.  
“I’m afraid not. You’ll just have to suffer for what you’ve done. Like an adult.”

Stiles winced, “Could you turn the pages a bit quieter? There’s really no need for paper to rustle that fucking loud.”

“Language, Stiles.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Let me rephrase. There is no fornicating need for fornicating paper to make that much fornicating noise.”   
His forehead connected with the table with a dull ‘thump’ followed by a muffled “Fuck. Ow,” from Stiles.

* * *

 

After his father had left for work Stiles contemplated going back to bed. School could suck it.

Well. Maybe not IT.

But he could afford not showing up for one day. He grabbed his phone and was about to send Scott a message when he saw he already received a text from someone. Well. Impatient, much? Stiles glanced at the alarmclock next to his bed. School hadn’t even started yet and Scott was already screaming for Stiles’s attent-

Oh.

It wasn’t Scott.

Stiles groaned and let himself fall in his bed. He couldn’t deal with this. Not right now. He knew that he had been sending weird texts to Derek last night, but he wasn’t exactly sure WHAT he had sent because he had deleted his messages afterwards.   
How he had been sober enough to know how to do that was beyond him, because the whole night after the first sip had been completely black.   
Nothing. Zip. Zilch.  
Well.. apart from the pink fluffy unicorns, but he was pretty sure those weren’t real. Fairly sure. Derek would’ve eaten those things for breakfast years ago if they had been real. Stands to reason, really.

He wasn’t going to answer. Nope. That’d be such a bad idea. His phone vibrated in his hand.

Nope. No. Not going to happen. Stiles turned his phone off and crawled under the blankets, still dressed.  
Feeling very sorry for himself he drew the covers over his head and whimpered softly until he finally fell asleep again.

~~   
_“Make a dragon want to retire, man-“_   
His ringtone woke him up, an unknown amount of time later.   
He scrambled for his phone on his nightstand, but was too late to answer.  
Instead, he saw several missed messages from Derek.

“Right,” Stiles scoffed, “as if you’d hurt one hair on my cute little head.”

“I’m about to hurt much more,” Derek’s dark voice snarled from behind him.

Stiles squeaked and dropped his phone on the ground as he did the turn-flop thing in his bed to face Derek, who was standing near the window in all his gloomy, leatherjacketed glory. “Fuck. Jesus. Derek. Dude. Use a fucking door once in a while!” Stiles panted, clutching at his chest.

Derek snorted in disdain, as if to say that doors were beneath him. And, Stiles mused, they probably were. Doors all over the world cowered under Derek’s steely glare, musky scent and abs of… of… the same steel his glare was made of.

“Why didn’t you answer my texts?” Derek demanded.

“What?”

“My texts. I sent you a few. You didn’t answer.”

Stiles turned over in his bed again to glance at his cellphone wedged between the mattress and the nightstand.   
“Well… to tell you the truth…” he started, but he stopped when felt the mattress dip under something quite heavy.   
“Whoa, whoa, bro, what-“ he started to say, but was shushed when Derek kissed him.

Stiles was utterly surprised and strangely delighted. When he had conquered his initial confusion and shock, his lips started moving on his own. This wasn’t his first kiss, obviously, but he wouldn’t exactly say that he was an expert. So all his movements felt new, exciting and utterly clumsy. Derek, on the other hand, seemed so experienced, so well at home. Roving hands everywhere, warming him, stirring things that shouldn’t be stirred. Their teeth clicked, tongues wrestled, lips pressed tightly against each other. It lasted a lifetime and it lasted… not that long really. Because just when Stiles thought he was getting the hang of all this kissing business, he heard his father shout from downstairs.

“Stiles! Do NOT tell me you’re in bed again!” Stiles tried to hold on to Derek, but that freaking werewolf was up and out of the window in a matter of seconds.

“I AM in fact in bed, and you ruined everything!” Stiles yelled back. He put his hands in his hair, trying to get a grip on the events. Did… Derek just kiss him?


	3. Third time's the charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wants Derek to admit something happened, hopefully without having to get drunk first.

After the event, as Stiles was now calling it in his head, everything went back to normal. Which meant that Derek pretended nothing had happened and Stiles kept on hoping that Derek would kiss him. You know, just like the old days. Except that they now both knew that something DID happen. It made things awkward to the max.

And Stiles didn’t appreciate awkward. Not one bit. So he tried his damnedest to make Derek at least acknowledge. He wasn’t quite sure what it was exactly that he wanted Derek to acknowledge (Love? Lust? A raging werewolf boner?) but, by God, Stiles was going to force him.

At first he tried it by badgering Derek constantly over the phone. Texting him, day and night. Calling him at all hours. Well, no. Not ALL hours. Some hours Stiles actually preferred sleeping. But most hours. And that worked very well. He could tell that Derek was right on the verge of snapping and telling him… something. Damn it, he really had to figure out what it was that he wanted Derek to tell him.

Sadly, just when Stiles thought he and Derek were going to have a breakthrough, Derek had the brilliant idea to simply turn his phone off.  
~~

Which also meant that Derek could not be reached when Stiles was in danger of being murder killed by a bunch of evil fairies. 

He hid behind a tree, wincing every time he heard one of the poison darts thud in the bark overhead. Fingers moving frantically, he mashed the quick dial for Derek. But every fucking time he head Derek’s voicemail, “Not here. Leave a message. I might call back.”  
“NO, YOU DON’T! YOU NEVER CALL BACK!” Stiles yelled in his phone, ducking as splinters flew through the air.

“Bad, bad, this is bad,” he muttered under his breath, as he tried calling Derek again.

“Stiles! Are you alright?!” Stiles could hear Scott yelling from the next tree over.

“Yes! Peachy! I love it when eight inch tall creature are actively trying to murder me with pebbles. Who doesn’t want to get stoned on their day off. Those people must be mad!” Stiles screamed back, flinching when a splinter nicked his cheek and drew blood.  
“And I mean LITERALLY stoned, Scott. Not the other kind, which does sound attractive at the moment, I might add!”

“Just, stay put! Derek is bound to get here any minute now!” Scott shouted, but Stiles wasn’t all that convinced.  
Irked, he wiped the blood from his cheek. This day sucked. Stupid Derek. Stupid fairies.

A pebble bounced off his temple, drawing more blood and it actually really fucking hurt this time.  
“For the love of-“ Stiles was fed up. He grabbed the pebble from where it had landed on the ground and flung it back to his assailants.  
“Stop throwing shit at me!”

When he heard Derek’s voice growl in his ear, “Watch where you’re throwing that stuff, Stiles. You nearly took my eye out,” he almost did in his pants what his father all those years back had patiently taught him not to do.

“Jesus, Derek,” Stiles clutched at his chest, “warn a dude next time, will you?”.

Derek, all wolfed out and looking scary as always, simply snarled. Without so much as a second glance at Stiles, he jumped out into the fray.

For a second the chittering and screeching from the fairies was ear splitting and it simply rained rocks. Then the screeching turned into tiny voices screaming. And the rain of pebbles turned into a rain of… green, sticky, gooey, stuff. Which was probably blood. Or possibly vomit. Stiles tried very hard to not think about either as it fell on his face like disgusting little snowflakes.

~~  
Afterwards things were even more awkward than they had been before. Stiles grimaced as he stood in his shower and washed the green goo from his hair.

Derek had stalked up to him back in the forest, little fairy wings still hanging from his claws, and almost pressed his nose against Stiles’.  
“I am going to turn my phone on again,” he’d snarled, and boy, was Stiles happy that at least werewolves didn’t have doggybreath, “and if you call me for nonsense one more time, I swear to everything that’s holy, I will shove that phone up your arse so far your dentist will be able to remove it from your mouth.”

Wow. Rude. But Stiles had gotten the message, loud and clear. No more calling.  
~~  
He still wasn’t sure what went wrong. It was such a good plan. And he had been so very stealthy too.  
Smiling apologetically he glanced over the top of his newspaper, straight into Isaac’s exasperated face.

“Stiles…” Isaac sighed, “You are not fooling anybody. Why are you stalking Derek?”

“I am not-“

“Stiles.”

“Isaac.”

“Stiles!”  
“Oh, c’mon!” Stiles exclaimed, putting the newspaper down with a huff, “Isn’t a guy allowed to drink a cup of coffee in his favourite coffee place anymore?”

Isaac sat down at Stiles’ table, “You are. And that guy is allowed to walk the street wherever he pleases, or to take a stroll in the forest. But it is getting a bit shady when the guy is everywhere our pack leader is.”

“Mere coincidences.”

“We found you hiding underneath his bed, Stiles.”

“I was checking for monsters!”

“Stiles.”

“Isaac.”

“Stiles, that wasn’t very funny the first time.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?!” Stiles wailed, now giving up all pretence, “he forbade me from contacting him on the phone. Ever! On pain of a lot of pain. He is ignoring me, Isaac-“

Isaac stared at Stiles blankly, not a smidge of sympathy on his face.

“And I kept my end of the bargain!” Stiles went out, now really getting into the lamenting, “I never texted or called him again. Ever!”

“It was only two weeks ago, Stiles,” Isaac grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Two weeks can feel like eternity, Isaac, now shut up.” Stiles took an angry sip from his coffee, trying his hardest to not wince when the scalding liquid burned his tongue. He wouldn’t give Isaac the satisfaction.  
“But I need him to talk to me,” he went on, “he has been ignoring me and I will not be ignored!”  
He looked around, but Derek was nowhere to be seen anymore, “Great. And now I lost him. Again. Thanks to you, scarf boy.”

“Give it time, Stiles,” Isaac stood up, “he’ll come around and stop ignoring you. But please, get rid of the fake newspaper schtick, you look like a moron.”

“It’s a real paper!”

“From two weeks ago, yes.” And with that, Isaac wandered out of the coffeeshop.

Stiles finished his coffee, still grumbling, and left shortly after.

“Well, well, well, look at what we got here,” a female voice drawled when Stiles turned the corner. After that, everything went black.  
~~  
When he came to, he found himself bound, bruised, and with a splitting headache. He was not amused. His surroundings, a musty old cellar from the looks of it, didn’t improve things.  
“For once,” he moaned, “I’d like to wake up in a four-star hotel, greeted by a pair of lovely young women who will dote on my every wish.”

“Well done, from consciousness to snarkiness in less than 30 seconds. I’m impressed.”

“Yes, well, it’s a gift.” Stiles turned his head, trying to catch a glimpse of his captor.  
He really wished he hadn’t.  
The woman, a description he could really only use very loosely, looked like a very old hag. She was bend, had hair like straw, a huge nose, and just looked generally unpleasant.  
“Oh great, not only do I have to wake up in what looks like a dungeon from a horror movie, but I’ve been kidnapped by Baba Yaga too.”

The woman cackled.  
“Such a sense of humour. Baba Yaga would never set foot here, sweetie.”

“Well, obv-“

“She’s my mother.”

Right. Of course. What else. Stiles groaned.  
“So. Yaga Junior. To what do I owe this not really pleasure?”

From somewhere in the depths of her clothing, Baba had produced a wicked looking dagger.  
“The pleasure will be all mine, toots,” she said, “For you only agony, I fear.” The tip of the knife was pressed against his chest, tearing through his shirt.

“Okay, please, don’t. Can’t we talk about this? I have this wonderful comic book collection that you can have, just-“

“Oh sweetie, it’s not about you,” Baba laughed, as she ripped his shirt open, exposing his chest, “it’s about the Hale boy.”

“Derek?” Of course, this was all about Derek. It was always about Derek.

“Yes. I know that you are never far from where he is, so you-“

“I’m bait? Again? This is getting really old. Look, if you want him so bad I can just call him for you!” Stiles tried to lean away from the dagger near his body, but it didn’t really work.

“But where’s the fun in that? Now, hold still. This won’t hurt,” she grinned a toothless grin, “me.”  
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that!” Derek’s voice interrupted Baba’s evil laugh and Stiles took a relieved breath.  
~~  
The fight was short and gory. It turns out that witches don’t really do well against claws of steel and teeth of… teeth.

Little droplets of black, stinking blood dripped from his hair and face. Charming. Looked like another shower was needed. With days of scrubbing.

“Heeey, Derek,” Stiles called out when he saw that Derek wanted to leave, “could you maybe, possibly, perhaps, give me a hand with these ropes?”

Derek stiffened and for a few seconds Stiles thought that he would simply walk on. But to his surprise he turned around and walked back.  
With a simple flick of a claw, his ropes were cut. Just when Stiles wanted to offer his thanks, Derek grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt and hoisted him up to eye level. If Stiles hadn’t been so scared, he would’ve been so turned on by now.

“Stop. Stalking. Me.” Derek growled, “You’re only getting yourself into trouble. You’re lucky that Isaac saw what happened.”

“Well, in my defense-“ Stiles started.

“No. Shut up.” Derek let go of him. “Stop stalking. Forget anything has ever happened, let things go back to normal. I can’t afford having you as a distraction right now.”

And with those words Derek disappeared into the night, leaving Stiles alone with the witch-paté and pain in his heart.  
~~  
Stiles wouldn’t be Stiles if he would let something minor like Derek turning him down stop him. No sir. Because technically ‘I can’t afford having you as a distraction right now’ didn’t mean ‘Hey, Stiles. I hate you, so kindly fuck off.’

He figured that if he would just show Derek that he could be a good boy and not be a distraction at all, things would be all peachy.  
So he was now heading to Derek’s place, armed with a box of raw steak (wrapped with a pretty bow, because hey, presentation is everything) and tickets to a romantic movie that was playing the cinema at the moment. Stiles didn’t even remember what it was called, but hey, it was in the dark and it meant alone time for him and Derek.

The door was slightly ajar, which was odd but didn’t bother Stiles too much. It simply meant that he could surprise Derek. Without making a sound he snuck inside.

“Yo! Derek!” he called, but nobody answered. For a second he thought that maybe Derek wasn’t home. But the Camaro had been outside and-

Now he could hear voices coming from the bedroom. Whimpering. Moaning. Grunting.

Slowly, he walked towards the bedroom, trying to keep his heart from hammering out of his chest. He wasn’t as stupid as to think the sounds were from pain, or distress. These were definitely sounds of the other kind.

The door to the bedroom was left slightly open as well, how convenient. Holding his breath, Stiles peeked inside. There, on Derek’s kingsized bed, lay Derek himself. But he wasn’t alone. Stiles couldn’t quite see who it was, but it didn’t matter. The gorgeous bare back of a woman kept him from seeing Derek’s face, but the sounds and movements they were making made it pretty obvious that this was a party for two. And Stiles wasn’t invited.

He didn’t even feel the box with steak fall on the floor as he fled the house.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course that was what Derek had meant when he said that he couldn’t use Stiles as a distraction. Nobody wanted to have the image of Stiles in their head when they were busy fucking some gorgeous woman.

Bitter tears streamed down Stiles’ face as he made his way back to his car.

He fumbled with his keys, trying to unlock his car, when he heard a woman whisper in his ear, “Gotcha!”

Something sharp slid between his ribs, cutting his breath off. A metallic taste entered his mouth when he tried to talk and he could feel something dribble down his chin. He gingerly touched the corner of his mouth with his fingertips and brought it up before his face. It took a while to focus, but his fingers were stained red. Blood. His own. It was strange though. Apart from the first second when the dagger had stabbed him, there was no pain. No pain at all. Just… cold.

The last thing he thought about as his knees buckled and everything slowly went black, was that it sure was a damn shame of those movie tickets.


	4. Better call the exterminator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up, but doesn't really recognize his surroundings. 'Luckily' someone is all too happy to tell him what's going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /o\

Darkness. Darkness everywhere. Darkness and a hell of a headache. Stiles tried blinking, but it didn’t really change anything, except that his headache got a hell of a lot worse. Oh god, maybe he was in hell. Stiles sat up with a start. Oh god, maybe he shouldn’t be thinking ‘oh god’ in the first place. Oh… Beelzebub?  
That didn’t have really the same ring to it.

The darkness wasn’t letting up, but he was at least sure he was sitting upright. Fairly sure, anyway. It was hard to tell, what with the not seeing anything at all and the eerie feeling that there was no definite ‘up’ or ‘down’ in this place.

“Hello?” he tried calling out. But even though the words arrived in his head, he didn’t actually hear them. No sound was coming from his mouth at all.  
Okay.  
That was weird. Not weird enough to panic, but definitely weird enough to be worrying.  
So. Now what? Stiles started chewing his lip, trying to think of a way to get out of here. Wherever ‘here’ was at the moment. It would help if he could actually, you know, see. 

The thought of being able to see had barely crossed his mind when a dim light from somewhere to his right lit up. It wasn’t much, barely more light than the flame of a candle would give, but at least it was better than the total darkness he was in before. 

Stiles scrambled up to his feet, noting the distinct lack of blood and expected pain on his body. Sure, he still had a weird headache, but other than that he felt fine. This was odd, he thought as he slowly walked towards the light. He vividly remembered being stabbed earlier when he was heading for his car. The fact that he wasn’t there anymore and wasn’t wounded in any way was not reassuring. So maybe it meant that he was dead. And if he was dead, how smart was it to walk towards the light?

“Poor, poor Stiles,” a woman’s voice suddenly spoke up in his head. Stiles froze in his steps.  
“All these confused thoughts. It must be so very hard for you, being a teenager. All those raging hormones, being around pretty girls. Oh, and boys too, I see. So hard.”

“Right. Yes. Very hard. Being a teenager, I mean. Extremely hard. We aren’t talking about anything else that could be hard around people.” Stiles thought at the woman. It was strange, having a thought conversation with someone who wasn’t himself.

“And flippant as always, even in the unknown. Remarkable. I have to commend you on your ability to make a penis pun at a time like this.”

Stiles chuckled nervously. “Heh. Very remarkable. Well. It was nice meeting you, time for me to go now,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, back towards the darkness, “if you would kindly show me the way out?”

“Oh, but there is no way out. I admire your stiff upper lip, but I fear you’re here to stay.”

“‘Stiff’? You’re really going for all the euphemisms here, aren’t you?” That sounded way more lighthearted than Stiles felt. This was bad. Bad. With a capital B. And he wasn’t talking about her horrible attempts at dick jokes.

“You have no idea how bad this is going to be, Stiles.” The light grew brighter, but did nothing to illuminate his surroundings, “We’re in your own head.”

“Riiiight. Sure we are. I can assure you that my head isn’t quite this empty at the best of times-” Stiles started. He was interrupted by the tinkling laughter of the woman.

“I know,” she said, “there are so many thoughts in here. Quite a few of time very naughty. I approve.”

“Okay, this is starting to freak me out. Some thoughts are private. And about privates. Private thoughts about private privates. So,” he faltered, “begone. Demon?” He finished lamely.

“Oh, I’m no demon.” An evil chuckle reverbated around him.

From the corner of his eye, Stiles could see something dark flit away into the shadows. He spun around in an attempt to see what it was. But it was gone before he even started moving.

“I’m much, much worse…”

An image flashed before Stiles’s eyes. And it seriously managed to scare the crap out of him. It was an image of diaphanous wings, fluttering, beating against a window pane in the stillness of the night. Multi faceted eyes staring out of different eyes, eyes that don’t belong to it. An insect lurking inside a host. Dark, buzzing, hunting. A brief view of a huge stinger, like that of a wasp, dripping with venom. Eggs. Hundreds of eggs. 

The creature he was talking to was ancient. It had different names, different appearances, but always only one goal. Procreate.

Stiles clutched at his head, trying to force the horrible image out of his mind. His treacherous mind. There wasn’t enough brain bleach to get rid of this. Wait. If they were in his head right now, did that mean that the thoughts he was thinking right now were around here somewhere? Worse still. If he, himself, was in his own head with his own head while walking around in his head then- Yeah, this was some very strange Inception shit.  
He wished he had his bat with him right now, he could really use the bloody thing.

“My bat… or maybe some insecticide,” he thought to himself.

“Oh, I’m hurt, Stiles,” the voice drawled, “insecticide? That’s mean. And completely ineffective, of course.”

“Of course. We’re going to need a huge boot to squash you. I warn you, I have a friend who’s-”

“A werewolf. I know.”  
“Hah! Yes! But, you probably don’t know that I have another friend who’s-”

“The Alpha of the pack. I also know that.”

How could a disembodied voice sound so smug? It should be illegal. It probably was, in some state.

“In fact,” she went on, “that lovely, lovely Alpha of yours is the reason why I needed to borrow you, as it were.”

Stiles had a flashback of the eggs and he felt sick to his stomach.  
“What did you do to me?” he demanded.

“I stung you, took over your body. I’ve noticed that your Alpha takes a shine to you. Just imagine how lovely it would be if my babies would have an Alpha as a father.”

“... what?”

“I need a strong man for my eggs. And a werewolf Alpha… well… just imagine how magnicifent my children will be. Strong, wicked, invincible!”

“No, not that bit. I’m smarter than I look, I already understood that you want to get your freak on with Derek. Who wouldn’t, really? I meant the bit where you said Derek is taking a shine to me!” Stiles grimaced, “And can we stop talking about these eggs? It’s seriously disgusting. And you, lady, you need some help. Lady. Sir. Person. Thing.”

“Of course,” she went on, as if Stiles hadn’t spoken at all, “the Alpha won’t survive the deed as I have to lay the eggs in his body. But it’s all for a good cause.”

 

Stiles’s mind was going a thousand miles an hour. He needed to buy time. But was time here even real? How long had he been unconscious now? An hour? A day? A year? He needed to warn Derek. But a tiny voice in the back of his head mused if he would experience it as well if the creature had sex with Derek using his body.

The woman laughed again, “I can see you’re going to enjoy yourself in your own brain, Stiles. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a packleader to seduce.”

Silence.

Stiles sat down on the floor, legs crossed. Well. This sucked.


	5. Pleased to meet you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean pay a visit to Beacon Hills, where they meet up with a special someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much love and hugs and thanks for my beta, [ Stilienski ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stilienski/pseuds/Stilienski)  
> Love you!

Dean made faces at himself in the mirror while he was shaving, as he always did. It kept him amused during a boring chore. And while it was never a punishment to look at his own face, it was just much more fun when he made funny faces along with it. He just had to be careful to not nick his skin while making the faces.

“Oy! Lazy ass!” he yelled over his shoulder to the bedroom, “Time to rise and shine!”    
The only answer from Sam was a groaning and a muttering that may have been a curse. But of course his loving brother would never tell him to go fuck himself with a pointy object. Perish the thought.   
Dean grinned at his reflection, dragging the razor over the remaining stubble.   
“Y’know, Sammy,” he went on, “I still don’t get what we’re doing here. This place is a dump. What’s it called again? Bacon Hills?”

“Beacon Hills, Dean,” came the groggy reply. After a second or so the sleepy-faced, dishevelled image of Sam appeared next to Dean’s own in the mirror.

“It’s Beacon Hills,” Sam repeated, dragging his fingers through his shaggy mane, “Don’t project your lack of breakfast on the names of people and towns, Dean.”

Dean wiped the remainder of the shaving cream from his face and turned around to look at his brother, “I wouldn’t be projecting anything if you had gotten out of bed sooner so we could’ve gotten a proper breakfast. What are we doing here, Sammy?”

Sam yawned, reaching for his toothbrush, “I saw a few weird news articles about this place. The papers tried to play it off as just freak incidents, but I’m fairly sure there’s more going on.”

“For example…?” Dean pressed.

“Fwo hehamel,” Sam started, toothbrush and froth in his mouth, but he was interrupted mid sentence by his brother.

“Jeez, Sam, what is it you always tell me? No talking with your mouth full?” Dean smirked as Sam rolled his eyes at him.

“For example,” Sam went on, after finishing brushing his teeth, “there is this one girl who keeps stumbling over victims. Dead victims. So, either she’s the unluckiest girl in this town-”

“Or the murderer.”

“Or, after looking at all the details on the cases, I’m suspecting she’s a banshee.”

“A banshee. Of course. That makes total sense." The sarcasm could've cut through glass.

“Okay, another example.” Sam walked to the bedroom and switched his laptop on. After a short while he presented Dean with several news articles. “Coyote attacks,” he stated, pointing at his screen, “If these are all true, then this town has the largest group of vicious coyotes I’ve ever seen.”

“Werewolves?” Dean asked, squinting at the laptop.

“Probably,” Sam nodded, “Maybe even an Alpha. And a few other creatures too, from the looks of it. I’m willing to go as far as a Kanima.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I mean- Aaahh!” Sam suddenly cried out and clutched at his head in obvious pain.

“Sammy, you okay?” Steadying his younger brother, Dean grabbed hold of his shoulders, “Are you having another vision?”

“No, I don’t know what- aaaagh!”

Dean watched in alarm as Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head, collapsing at his feet in the musty hotel room.    
  
“Sammy! No!” Dean wasn’t panicking. He really wasn’t. Panic at a time like this would be bad. His brother depended on him and needed him to keep his cool. So when Dean crouched down next to Sam he absolutely wasn’t shouting or fighting back tears. With fingers that were definitely not shaking he checked Sam’s pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he could feel a steady pulse. 

“Well, great,” he muttered, “so now you’re not only having visions but you’re fainting as well. You’re starting to look more and more like a dainty damsel. Next you’ll ask me to carry your purse.”

He raised an eyebrow when Sam started muttering in his sleep.

_ “You can’t be serious, _ ” Sam whispered, barely audible.

“I am extremely serious, Sam,” Dean replied, “And I’ll have you know that I draw the line at the purse thing. Next thing you’ll know you’ll want one of those yipping dogs. We’re badass hunters, dude, we can’t be seen  _ accessorizing.” _

_ “Very well. Are you certain this will work?” _

“Absolutely. It will-” Dean stopped when the realization hit him, “You’re not talking to me, are you?”

_ “Alright. What do I do?” _

“How about telling me what the hell is going on?” Dean suggested, sitting down heavily on the bed.

“ _ On the count of three then. _

Dean stood up, prepared for anything that could happen on the third count.

_ “One…” _   
  
His hands tensed and curled in fists.

“ _ Two…” _ __  
__  
He felt behind him on the desk, searching for the salt and holy water he knew were there.

_ “Three!” _

For a second nothing happened and Dean thought that maybe Sam was just dreaming after all.

Just when he relaxed a bit, Sam shot up in an upright sitting position with another bloodcurling scream. 

“Jesus, Sam!” Dean clutched at his chest, “You gave me a damn near heartattack!”

“Where am I?” Sam panted, sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes wild.

“Still in the hotelroom. Bacon Hills, remember?” 

“What? Bacon- What?” Sam looked up at him in genuine puzzlement. Puzzlement… and something else.

“Oh, you know. This weird little town we were just discussing.” Dean prompted.

“That’s  _ Beacon _ Hills, you dolt,” Sam tried to get up, “Do you seriously think we haven’t heard the Bacon Hills joke before? Get some new material.”

“Sure, sure,” Dean nodded, “How about… THIS?!” Dean flung the full bottle with holy water in Sam’s face, waiting for the screaming to begin. Sam had been possessed by a demon before, this was nothing new. He was slightly surprised though when Sam the Demon didn’t start screaming or flailing about, but simply looked back at him with a very annoyed expression on his dripping face.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry about that. Just a precaution. You know how it is.” Dean flashed Sam his most apologetic smile, which wasn’t all that apologetic to begin with. “Hang on, I’ve got something here to dry your face with. TAKE THAT!”

The full container of salt was emptied on Sam’s soaking wet face. Dean grimaced when this didn’t have the desired either. All it had done was stick to Sam’s face after the holy water shower.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Sam managed to ask, after spitting out an impressive amount of salt that had landed in his mouth.

“Sam, I am so, so, sorry,” Dean held up both his hands, in a sign to Sam that he was without anything else to throw in his brother’s face, “But I can’t be too careful, what with all these demons and-”

He was quite proud of himself afterwards, it was a beautiful punch. It was pure luck that he didn’t break Sam’s nose in the process. Admittedly, there was a lot of blood. But it wasn’t broken. That was important.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you doing?!” Sam clutched his nose, tears streaming down his face as the blood dripped out from between his fingers. When he looked up again, he looked straight in the barrel of Dean’s shotgun.

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Dean growled.

The person he knew as Sam sat back on the ground, heaving a deep sigh, “That obvious, huh?” 

Sam’s voice was lighter, younger somehow.

“Sam is my brother, he would never call me a dolt or tell me to get new material. Amongst other things.”

“Your brother? Then what the hell was I still doing on the floor when I woke up?” Sam the Maybe Not A Demon glared up at him in obvious judgement.

“I said we’re brothers. I’m not his mother,” Dean was starting to get annoyed. Well. More annoyed. “Cut the chitchat. Tell me who you are, what you want, and then get the hell out of my brother’s body before I pump it full of rock salt.”

He was only slightly taken aback when Sam offered him a hand and said, “The name is Stiles Stilinski. I’m the sheriff’s son. Pleased to meet you and welcome in Bacon- dammit,  _ Beacon  _ Hills.”

  
  



End file.
